Last Episode Ever!
by Unicat
Summary: The title says it all. Read and review, please!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I really have my reservations about writing this story. I mean, yeah, it's only a fanfic and not actually a story they're going to use for the last episode, but it still feels like a tall order. So…I don't know how well it'll turn out. I just know that it's probably going to be awfully long! If it ever was made into a real episode, it would have to be a multi-parter! Anyway, I'll try my hardest to keep everyone in character and add humor, although it won't be too jokey as that's not my style. I plan on resolving some recurring themes and you can let me know if you ideas for some others. Also, feel free to suggest other names for the title…I'm not too attached to this one.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons.**

Chapter One

Marge Simpson awoke to the sound of water running in the shower and her husband singing an off-key and inaccurate version of Kanye West's "Stronger":

"Do you know how long I've been warnin' ya?

Since the pickles dumped acid on ya

Since OJ and Ibuprofen

Don't smash my wife's new victrola!

Don't act like you get leftovers!

Mmm…leftovers…"

Marge groaned and rolled over to glance at the bedside clock. Her sleepy eyes bugged wide open. 6:30?!

"Homer!" she gasped as he stepped into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, ""You're up early! And bathing voluntarily! What gives?"

Homer chuckled and stooped to kiss her brow, which was furrowed in confusion.

"I want to get to the power plant early so I can quit my old job and be on time for my new one!" he replied cheerily.

Though this turn of events was hardly anything new, Marge's mouth still fell open a little in surprise and she exclaimed, "You got a new job? When were you planning on telling me?!"

Homer crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmph! Well, I fail to see how this is any concern of yours!"

"Homer…" Marge muttered dangerously, glaring at him.

"Fine, fine!" he said. He took a deep breath. "I got a new job as a party planner!" he explained excitedly, good humor returning "It's a natural fit for a big, fat party animal like me! Now, since I'm up so early…" he lowered his voice suggestively, "What say we start the day off right. Rrrrowl!"

Marge giggled as he joined her on the bed and started to drop his towel…

And quickly caught it wand wrapped it back around his curvaceous body as the bedroom door swung open and there stood Lisa.

"Lisa!" He scolded angrily, "Haven't you heard of knocking first?"

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I need to talk to Mom. Mom, remember you promised to drive me to school early today?"

She hadn't remembered. If it wasn't for Homer's shower serenade she'd have overslept. Guilt flooded over Marge as her eyes darted back and forth. "Why, of course, honey…"

"Lisa!" Homer interrupted her, addressing his daughter, "Why would you want to be at school any longer than you have to?"

"Because," Lisa replied irritably, hands on hips seeming as usual mush older than her eight years, "The mayor's youth council is going to be there today! The school year's almost over, and they're going to pick two junior members out of the new third grade class starting up this fall! That's me!

"What, a member of the new third grade class or a junior member of the Mayor's wiener brigade?" piped up a voice from behind Lisa. It was, of course, Bart. "God, you're cocky, Lis."

He ignored his sister's glare and gritted teeth, yawning and stretching luxuriously. "Ah! Two more weeks! Summer's so close, I can almost smell it come wafting in on a breeze, like the scent of a hotdog from the ballparks made so crowded by that season that you end up mashed up under some stranger's sweaty, salty armpit." Pretty poetic for Bart.

Homer's mouth had begun to water at the part about the hotdog…or so it would seem.

"Mmm…salty armpits…"

Lisa tugged at her mother's nightgown. "Mom! Hurry up and get dressed! Don't forget the assembly starts at seven!"

Marge dashed into the bathroom to get ready.

"Wait!" Homer said suddenly, "The school year's over in two more weeks? Boy, it feels like you kids have been in the same grade for about twenty years!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Marge, holding Maggie, and Lisa jumped in the car at 6:55 and sped toward Springfield Elementary. Homer drove to work.

Meanwhile, at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant…

Mr. Burns was lying on a massage table in his office while Smithers gave him a massage.

These had to be some of the most uncomfortable moments of Waylon Smithers' life, simply because they were also so…_pleasurable. _Even if he wasn't the one being…erm, pleasured.

But it was very gratifying in a very unprofessional way when Mr. Burns kept making noises and crying out things that sounded like they were…getting down to a different kind of business.

Thank God the doors were soundproof.

"Mmm," Mr. Burns groaned, "Oooh, Smithers…yes, that's nice. Nnh, a little harder, please."

As a light sweat broke out across Smithers' forehead, a light rapping was heard at the door. He stopped what he was doing, cringing as he saw the slight scratches he'd left on his employer's back. Amazingly, Mr. Burns hadn't complained of any pain when they were being put there.

As Smithers went to open the door, Burns raised his head. "What are you doing?" he asked angrily, the massage apparently not succeeded in relaxing him.

"Somebody knocked, sir."

"Bother that, you ninny! I think I've got a knot," he turned over onto his side and rubbed at his lower back, almost flashing him.

Smithers felt a shiver climbed up his spine. He placed one hand to cover the door handle, the other to strategically cover a certain spot on his _own _anatomy. "In a moment sir," he said and flung open the door, practically pulling it off its hinges.

Homer Simpson stood on the other side and Smithers called into his boss, "Simpson's here to see you, sir. If you don't need me, I think I'll run to the restroom now. Excuse me."

Burns sat up an regarded him with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. "You always dart off to the bathroom whenever you've finished giving me a massage!" he complained.

"I drink a lot of coffee," was Smithers' excuse. It was true. Being Mr. Burns' personal assistant required the intake of a lot of caffeine. He fled the room.

Mr. Burns scrutinized Simpson. "What can I do for you?"

When they at Springfield Elementary arrived, they were only five minutes late. Marge dropped Lisa off at the curb and she leapt out before the car even came to a complete stop. This caused her to stumble.

"Lisa! Are you alright?" Marge asked worriedly.

Lisa looked down and saw that she had skinned her knee, but not badly and it wasn't painful. "Uh, yeah."

However, she had been carrying her speech to give to the youth council in a folder that had fallen open when she dropped it and the papers scattered everywhere. "D'oh!" As she gathered them up, she looked up at her mom, who was getting out of the car.

"No, Mom, it's alright. I got it. Just go home."

Marge frowned, looking hurt. "Don't you want me to stay and see if you make it onto the council?"

Oh, Mom," Lisa sighed, "Of course I do. And I'd really like to have your support, but we won't find out until the end of the assembly, which is at eight o'clock. And you have to be home to make sure that Bart gets on the bus…surely, well, you don't actually believe you can trust him to get on it himself, do you?"

Marge clasped a hand to her chest defensively. "What, do you think I'm new here?" she cried, offended. She got back in the car.

Then, gifting her daughter with one of her most loving looks, she said affectionately, "Good luck, sweetie," before driving off.

Lisa finished picking up her papers and ran up the sidewalk, up the steps to the school, down the quiet, deserted halls and into the auditorium.

She was just about to sprint onto the stage when she was a hand clamped down on her shoulder and held her back. "Nun uh!" It was Principal Skinner. "It's good that you could make it, Lisa, but you've got wait you're turn, little missy."

"But I was scheduled to go first!" Lisa protested, breaking free of his grip.

"Yes you were, " Skinner agreed. "But you weren't here, so we let Janey go ahead," he gestured toward the stage, where Janey was giving her speech, Superintendent Chalmers standing off to the side.

Distressed, Lisa asked, "Does this mean I don't get to give my speech?!"

"Well…" Principal Skinner thought about it, scratching his chin. "If there's time left after everybody else is done…"

Looking around the auditorium, Lisa observed that there were only about five students sitting in the front rows, waiting for their chance to improve the youth council. Mayor Quimby himself wasn't there, as he couldn't be bothered with kiddy stuff like this- not when it wasn't an election year and a photo op at Springfield Elementary wouldn't mean so much But his secretary was there, which was sort of a big deal, Lisa supposed, eyeing her cynically. She was a gorgeous, busty blond in a short, tight dress that was causing Willie, mopping the floor near one of the fire exists, to literally drool. However, he quickly mopped up the drool, too.

Turning back to Skinner, Lisa nodded. "That sounds fair." She took a seat and listened to her peers' speeches.

Two were just plain terrible and nonsensical, two were mediocre at best, and one (Martin's) was fairly decent. Borderline impressive, actually. Lisa was willing to bet he'd be one of the junior members selected today. But she, obviously, would be the other, and no matter how good Martin's speech had been, hers was gonna blow his outta the water!

In it, she'd been sure to mention her many accomplishments, such as being Miss Perfect Attendance, yearbook editor, school spelling champ, state spelling runner-up, and the ideas she had for improving the town.

When the other students had finished, Principal Skinner ushered her up onto the stage. Lisa took a deep breath, set her folder on the podium, and smiled out at her meager audience.

It was then that she realized she should have spent her time waiting getting her papers in order; they were all mixed up. Lisa grimaced, but remained calm, rifling through the pile. Graded assignments that had been handed back to her, a printed copy of the lunch menu, her math notes… darn it, where was her speech?! She went through all the papers. Twice. Her heart almost stopped.

It wasn't there! Well, the last page was. Which contained a few sentences and then two words: 'thank you'. She heard Superintendent Chalmers cough. Glancing in his direction, she saw him shoot Skinner a Look, one that clearly said, "This girl better start soon, or else get her off the stage."

Lisa blushed and ran off the stage to Principal Skinner. "Pl…please!" she said panting, utterly humiliated, "I dropped my papers outside before I came in here and I…I must not have picked all of them up! Please, let me go outside and look for them! Please wait for me!"

Skinner glanced at his watch. "Lisa…"

Not waiting for him to say more, Lisa muttered a speedy "Thank you!" and was out the door in a flash.

She had forgotten how windy it was outside. The papers were not on the sidewalk or by the curb or anywhere near there. They were nowhere near anywhere! Tears welled up in her eyes as she circled the school in a futile attempt to find them.

Returning to the auditorium, she found Skinner up on stage, attempting to stall the audience with a song:

"How am I supposed to live without you?

After I've been loving you so long…"

From the audience, Mrs. Krabappel interjected with, "You don't know the first thing about love! Ha!"

Shamefaced, Skinner noticed that Lisa had come in. She shook her head sadly at him.

Martin and Allison were named junior members of the mayor's youth council.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons.

**Author's Note: I am sorry it has taken so long for me to update. I hope you haven't lost interest in this story. The updates ought to come more frequently now that I'm almost on Spring Break.**

Chapter Three

Homer's first appointment was with Apu, to help him put together a surprise anniversary bash for his wife, Manjula.

"Oh, thank goodness you are here!" Apu was saying, opening his apartment door, "By the many arms of Vishnu, I do not have as many arms as Vishnu and this party planning has me most overwhelmed!" When he saw Homer standing there, he looked taken aback and exclaimed, "Oh! Mr. Homer! I was not expecting to see _you _here."

Homer nodded understandingly. "Didn't know that I was a party planner, huh?"

"Indeed I did not know, but I am used to you spontaneously taking up unlikely new vocations. I meant that I did not know there were straight party planners." He eyed Homer suspiciously.

Homer smiled cheerfully. "Well, obviously there are!" He stepped past Apu into the apartment.

It was Mexican Night at the Simpsons', and as Lisa sat at the dining room table with her mother and siblings she poked sadly at her vegetarian burrito.

"Lisa, honey, what's the matter?" Marge asked, observing her sympathetically.

"Oh, Mom, look at the evidence!" Bart groaned. "She obviously didn't make it onto the youth council thing. If she had, she would have been talking our ears off about it ever since she got home!"

Training a dagger-like glare upon her brother, Lisa yelled, "Shut up!"

"Is what Bart says true?" Marge asked softly, "If you didn't make it, I'm sorry, but it's not the end of the world. Sweetheart, you are an exceptionally bright and gifted young…"

Her daughter cut her off with, "I deserve a spot on that council!" She explained what had happened and balled her hands into small fists. "I'm just so angry with myself for slipping up!"

"Yes, exactly," Marge agreed solemnly, her brow furrowing in consternation. "You slipped. Getting out of the car. It was an accident. Accidents happen."

Lisa shook her head. "I should've been more careful. And I should've had my papers better organized."

Marge placed a soothing hand over her daughter's, who pulled away. "I'm going upstairs to work on my homework," she grumbled.

She completed her homework easily and disdainfully dropped her books into her backpack. Well, she still had two whole hours to kill before she had to get ready for bed. She might as well get started on that research paper her class had been assigned. It wasn't due for a month, but…meh.

Among other sources, she consulted a favorite online scholarly journal. She scrolled down the page, diligently taking notes until she reached the end…and an ad:

**Win a year's scholarship to England's prestigious Excelsior Ridge private boarding school!**

"Well…just out of curiosity," Lisa murmured to herself before clicking on the link.

The school's homepage was very professionally and attractively put together. It accomplished the task of impressing the finicky and cynical Lisa Simpson, with its many pictures of the campus. Outwardly, the buildings had a stately and historic appeal. Inwardly, they were very high-tech and offered every modern amenity. The institution was nestled into the beautiful scenery, the lush and verdant hills of the English countryside.

Best of all, though, was Excelsior Ridge's academic record. The school was divided into two parts- one for kindergarten thru sixth grade, and one for grades seven thru twelve. Both consistently scored five points higher than the national average (Lisa didn't know England's national average, but she'd check on it later) on achievement test. 98 of its graduates went onto "University". There were all sorts of extracurricular, like horseback riding, and Excelsior Ridge's jazz band had played for the queen!

As was to be expected, the tuition was tremendously steep. Even if you could afford it, the entrance requirements were sure to be an obstacle for many kids.

What a boon to get into that school!

Lisa noticed that the hour was growing rather late and so decided to get on with her bedtime rituals. She put on her nightgown and headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth, blessedly not running into Bart. Apparently, Marge had not yet managed to nag him into going to bed.

Lisa went back to her room and crawled into bed, lying under the covers for awhile, lost in thought.

She heard her father's unmistakable heavy tread on the stairs before drifting off to sleep, her head full of visions of a prominent, distinguished private boarding school, in a far-off land of classy lilting accents. Handsome brick buildings on sprawling green moors and knolls.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons.**

Chapter Four

Homer entered the bedroom he shared with his wife to find said wife sitting up waiting for him, her countenance irate. Peevishly, her nails dug into the paperback book she was holding as she peered over it, scrutinizing his progress into the room.

"Where have you been?!" Marge burst out vehemently, shutting the book she was reading and roughly flinging it down. "You were supposed to be home by after dinner so you could watch the kids while I went to my bookclub!"

"Oh, I know, honey, and I'm so sorry I had to miss that dinner, too," Homer said in a syrupy sweet voice, his eyes wide and pleading, "Is it in the fridge?"

"I don't care that you didn't get to eat your dinner!" Marge exploded. 

"But I did," her husband interjected, "I ate at Apu's. Of course, it was an Indian meal, so it barely qualified as food."

"Homer!" Marge shouted, then recalled the kids were sleeping and lowered her voice to an incensed whisper, ""It t would have been fine as long as you got here before I had too leave for my club meeting." She held up the novel she had been reading. "This is a very engrossing book and I was looking forward to discussing it with my friends. I haven't had a break all week, Homer, and it would have been nice to leave the house for something besides running errands." She sighed dispiritedly, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Was she getting through to him. "Did you stay at Apu's this whole time or did you go to Moe's afterward?"

"Uh…I went to Moe's," Homer confessed.

Marge murmured in displeasure.

"Look," said Homer, "If it'll make you feel any better, I'll sleep on he couch tonight and leave you to read your gross book in peace."

"Sir?"

Smithers stood in between the open sliding glass doors that led out onto the patio overlooking Mr. Burns' expansive backyard, holding a glass of freshly made lemonade, containing, per his instructions, exactly three icecubes.

His employer had been standing, looking out over the yard, his back to Smithers. Now he turned and wordlessly accepted the beverage.

Smithers frowned. Was Mr. Burns angry at what he'd told him earlier?

Smithers had received a phone call from Murray Lyford, whom he'd met in Albuquerque when he was doing the Malibu Stacey musical. He'd been part owner of the theater where the production was staged until he'd sold out and recently moved to North Haverbrook. He'd purchased a theater there, but wasn't booking many acts into it. He couldn't afford any good ones, so he had to settle for local "talent" that needed a showcase for their performances. So for awhile now, Waylon and Murray had been co-writing a new musical, **Shy Colors of the Sky.** Just this morning Murray had called his friend to let him know he'd finished casting the thing, and they'd be ready to go within a month. Waylon drove to his boss's mansion and after bathing him, dressing him, and making him breakfast asked if next month he could take a single work week off. Burns had not been pleased, had chastised him to some extent, asking him if he had his priorities straight. Ultimately, though, he grudgingly gave his assistant what he asked for.

That was a few hours ago. Was he still upset? 

As Mr. Burns settled himself into a lounge chair, Smithers prudently eased himself into the one next his and studied his handsome face. Burns was scowling, but then he usually scowled, so his emotions were typical indecipherable. But there was an atmosphere of rumination about him, as he tented his sexy, slender fingers and his eyes clouded over in a deep reverie.

Waylon cleared his throat cautiously. "Is there anything the matter, sir?"

Snapping out of his contemplation, Mr. Burns retorted harshly, "Of course not, why would there be, you numbskull?"

A Smithers sighed and shrugged, noting with displeasure the slight wrinkle in his khaki shorts. On a Saturday in the summer, Mr. Burns didn't mind if Smithers wore something so casual . 

After about five minutes of silence, Burns addressed him with, "Come to think of it, Smithers, I do have a task for you."

Ned Flanders exited his house, sons in tow, on Sunday morning on his way to church. He got them both all nice and safely buckled in and was about to climb into the car himself when he heard his neighbor, Marge Simpson, expressing some unkind words to her car. (Fortunately, for the sake of Rod and Todd's pure and impressionable little ears, she uttered nothing rougher or more offensive than "sugar booger!")

Coming around side of the fence that separated their lawns, Ned stood at the edge of the Simpson property and called to Marge, "Something amiss, missus?"

""Ohhh…" Marge lamented, "The car won't start! Now we have no way of getting to church!"

"Why don't you take Homer's car?"

Marge blushed a little and chuckled nervously. "We don't exactly…know where it's at. He spent last night playing poker at Lenny's, and this morning I found my husband on the lawn. His car was nowhere in sight. We don't even know how he got home."

"Oh." Ned stroked his mustache, pondering how a thing like that could happen. "Well, anyway," he said blithely after a moment," You can ride with us. We can't have you all missing church now, can we?" He did not add, _especially when it's obvious your family needs it so much, _but the way Marge looked at him, it was like she guessed what he was thinking.

Regardless, replied quite sincerely, "Thank you, Ned." She clasped her hands together, pleased, and called into the house, "Homer, kids, get a move on!"

Bart and Lisa soon came hurdling out of the house, dressed in their Sunday best and having a quarrel. However, when Lisa saw Ned, she pulled her arm away from Bart (who had been pinching it), and smoothed out the front of her pretty pink dress. 

"Hi, Mr. Flanders," she offered.

"Kids settle down," said Marge, "My car won't start, so Mr. Flanders has offered to give us a ride to church. I think it would be nice if you'd tell him thank you, huh?"

Lisa obliged, while Bart muttered something impolite under his break along the lines of, "oh great, now we have to all squeeze into a car with Churchy and his dual wusses."

"Bart!" his mother admonished.

"Oh, what? Oh…I mean, thanks man," Bart mumbled dully.

After church ended, Marge, Lisa, Maggie, and Ned and his boys waited in the parking lot outside the Flanders mobile. Homer was still inside the church, because they served coffee after the service, and Homer was trying to pilfer as many donuts as he could. Bart had been asked to stay behind after Sunday school, as the teacher wanted to have a (stern) word with him, Lisa said.

Eventually, Homer joined his family, near tears, bemoaning the fact that they were only serving sugar-free donuts. Bart would emerge tailed by a very perturbed-looking woman nobody had ever seen before. As Bart ran over to the car, she leaned up against the wall of the church and observed all that was going on around her. 

Ned observed **her**. She was simply stunning! Her long, flowing golden blond hair, held back neatly by a headband, fell around her shoulders and just then caught the sunlight in such a way as to look like she wore a halo. She truly did resemble an angel.

Reverend Lovejoy then approached her and before Ned knew it, he was walking the beautiful mystery woman over to where they stood!

"Ned, Simpsons," he said, smiling, "This is our new Sunday school teacher, Miss Teresa Honeywell. **Miss**," he emphasized, with a sidewise glance at Ned. 

Ned felt his face grow hot. "How…Howdya do?" he stammered bashfully.

"I'm just lovely…"

"Yes you are," Homer concurred, drooling slightly, earning him a sharp glare from his wife and an elbow in the stomach.

Teresa colored. "How are all of you?"

"Oh, just Jim-diddily-andy," Ned replied, beaming at her, totally infatuated.

Teresa smiled back. "Good. I look froward to seeing you again." The comment was meant for the group as a whole, but it was clearly directed at Ned. With a little wave, she strolled off.


End file.
